pretty in pink
by the color is blinding
Summary: "You should have known good things couldn't last." Sam-centric, one-shot. Prequel to Your Jar of Hearts.


_a one-shot by _**the color is blinding**_, based off of a painfully true story. the prequel, of sorts, to jar of hearts_

_Enjoy~_

**{pretty in pink}  
**

It is only two weeks away and you are almost excited. _Almost_, because you wanted to be asked. _Almost_, because the guy you wanted to ask you probably wouldn't. _Almost_, because you are too afraid to ask him._ Almost_, because you have to go dress shopping and not wear socks.

She comes up to you on a Wednesday during lunch, and she is beaming. You ask her why she's so happy, and she just shrugs, and then says that you should go dress shopping with her. Plans are made to go that evening.

Night comes and her car pulls up in front of your house. You yell good-bye to your mom, and then you're gone. She knows just where all of the best deals are in the city, so she zips neatly through the after-dinner traffic and, before you could have counted to ten, the car screeches to a stop in front of a large store that you would never go into by choice. So she drags you into the store, and practically _sniffs_ the air, and races off to the junior dress area of the store, pulling you along by the wrist.

You just stand there awkwardly as she browses feverishly through their selection. You let her put dresses up to your neck, and you watch as she sighs, coos, or shakes her head. After what feels like an hour in your opinion, she gives you three dresses and marches you to the dressing room. She has eight in her hands for herself.

She waits as you try on the first dress, blue, sparkly, and strapless. You feel like a fool in it. But you walk out and she squeals with surprise, and tells you that _it's just perfect! _Despite that, you are forced to try on another one: yellow, spaghetti-strapped, with a huge ugly ribbon. It reminds you faintly of barf. Luckily, she agrees, and tries to rip it off of you. And then you turn regretfully and unwillingly to the final dress. It's pink with a halter-neckline and, judging by the material, intended to hug your curves. Just as you pull it on, she slides pink heels under the door, and demands you wear them as well.

You uncomfortably put them on, knowing that if you didn't, she would kill you. And, without spending time to judge it alone, you step out. A huge smile overcomes her face. _Sam! You look _amazing_! I'm so getting that dress for you—and I don't care if it's twelve dollars or twelve hundred. _

You're surprised. _I guess I do look pretty in pink, eh?_

She laughs, and it's decided for you. She buys you the dress, and now you must wait and wait until maybe—just _maybe_—he'll ask you.

::

But he never does. Days pass by and your hope grows steadily worse, but at least you won't be disappointed in hoping he would ask, which he surely wouldn't.

But then to your awe and surprise, before going home after school one day, _he asks you_—plainly and straightforwardly, with a nod of his head as if that would make it seem more convincing—three days before homecoming night, and shocked, you hesitantly mumble a _sure_ and then you're on your way, trying desperately to forget that amazingly adorable smile that floated over his face, and trying desperately to wipe that blushing beam away from your own. Oh, yes, you are in bliss. Sweet bliss, and you know that this was just _meant to be_.

You can almost hear the angels singing _hallelujiah! _and you drop everything to call her about the good , no, _amazing_, news. Your smile must have leaked into your voice, and so she squeals and you think that this is going to be an amazing night, and that everything in this world is working out just the way it was supposed to be,

_You should have known good things couldn't last_.

You know that you have to break the news to your mother, so you do carefully, oh so carefully, knowing that this is the crucial moment—it could make it or break it—and then she whips her head to glare at you. Her eyes have never seemed so evil and dark. You swear lightly under your breath, and then you realize that oh no, _oh no_—she's going to force you to go solo—and then she tells you thatshe's volunteering at the dance so she'll be able to see your every move if you sneak-date him behind her back.

You can hardly hold back the disappointment and fury, and then you start to yell angrily, and then you say some things you truly don't mean to say, and you find yourself out on the rainy street, empty and never having felt so cold.

You stumble to her house, and you tell her your story in person. She's also shocked, and she hugs you tight. This could be bearable if only you didn't have to tell him.

You sleep fitfully, painfully, sorrowfully. You desperately wish that morning would not come. School the next day is miserable. He had told all of his friends the once-delightful news, so they all give you hugs and they congratulate you, and they're happy, and you know that they don't know the truth, so they have every right to be happy.

You're about to tell him when he smiles the biggest, most genuine, happiest smile you have ever seen him smile. He asks you what color dress you have so he can get you a corsage, and for the first time in your life, your courage fails. You pause momentarily, deathly afraid. But then someone cuts in for you, _don't you remember, Sam? Your dress is pink!_

You nod, laugh, and agree with what they said, though your heart is sinking lower and lower.

You hate seeing his smile, because you know that you're going to have to break it soon. So you tell him after school, bitterly untactful, using the phone. It hurts yourself to hear his voice. But you tell him, and then you clumsily say random things, then listen to him hang up the phone immediately after you say good-bye. You feel horrible. Nothing in your life has ever truly compared to such pain like this.

Friday comes, and you see his sunken depressed eyes, and his friends come up to you, and ask you questions. You blame your mother completely and honestly. You don't know if they believe you or not. A few come up to you and say that your mom sucks, you agree, and then they sigh, commenting that he's probably depressed, because he really truly did like you, and you can't help but say the same about yourself, and how he was everything you've ever wanted…

You watch him go about his day, and you can't help but notice that he hasn't said a single word to you. Nothing but silence. Bitter empty silence. The silence of someone who has been hurt—and you don't know how to make it heal.

::

The homecoming football game. You offered a while back to give him and his friends a ride to the after-game festivity. Once there, you go up to him and apologize sincerely for everything.

His response rings deep and stings. _Oh, it's okay. I didn't really want to go anyways. I only asked you because you didn't have anyone else to go with._

And you feel the tears, unwelcome, forbidden tears, swell up and threaten to burst. But you stand strong, and act like you weren't hurt, though inside, you are bleeding.

You try to ignore the pain, but words cut deeper than any gunshot. And you know that to be true.

::

You are determined to stay strong, and you go to the dance unwillingly without him, not wanting to waste her precious money spent on your pink dress. You can't help but realize that his presence is missing.

Finally, she comes up to you and asks you what's wrong. You tell her everything unedited, and, somehow, you are never sure about this later, you end up crying in her arms, heartbroken at last. After you calm yourself, you excuse yourself to go to the restroom, and let everything continue as usual.

Her date comes up to you later, and gives you a hug. _Carly told me everything. Oh, Sam, I'm so sorry. I had no idea he was such a jerk._

You shrug, shake, and regretfully begin to cry again. You're afraid of ruining his tux. _Thanks Freddie… it just hurts you know? Everyone told me he really liked me, but then he has to go stab me in the heart even when I was already falling apart._

_He did like you Sam, a lot. Don't hear me wrong when I tell you that he really liked you, because he did. _His voice is warm and soothing, and somehow she makes you two dance together during a slow song, and you wrap your arms around his neck, and lean into his chest.

_Oh Freddie, this was a waste…_You say quietly. He laughs.

_Not at all Sam. Just because he's incredibly rude doesn't mean that this wasn't a waste. I mean, think about it. You got to spend time with your true friends, you got to slow dance with me—_here you kick him slightly—_and you really do look beautiful tonight Sam. _

You grimace lightly. _Okay, maybe not a complete waste, but this dress—_

_Oh, shut up, Sam. Believe me when I tell you that you really do look pretty in pink. And no boy will ever change your inner beauty. He can push you down into the fire, but you will always be able to stand back up, and make something beautiful out of the ashes. _His voice is genuine, and it makes you smile lightly. _Besides, he's too chicken to even show his face tonight, while you are incredibly brave in coming. _

_Thank you Freddie_.

He smiles, and leaves you to dance with his date, and suddenly, but not quite so suddenly, you begin to smile yourself again.

Maybe you really do look pretty in pink.

::

Hmm. Interesting how life is. For the record, I understand why he acted the way he is, but I wanted to let out some emotions in writing. (I wrote this October 18). Leave me your thoughts in a review. Thank you a ton,

**the color is blinding**


End file.
